The New Order
by princesstaranee
Summary: Laoise Penny. That's me. I'm a witch, brought up with Muggle parents. And I'm the secret weapon that's going to finally rid this world of Harry Potter, the Chosen One.
1. Prologue

_It was no good. Potter was searching for his horcruxes, and that would absolutely not do. But how to stop him?_

_The Dark Lord paced back and forth. He was not angry, no, just pensive. He could not create another horcrux for fear that Potter would catch on. He was not stupid – ignorant, unskilled, arrogant, _half-blooded, y_es, but not stupid. And the Mudblood Granger would no doubt figure it out, even if he didn't. What could he do to stop his heritage from fading away?_

_The answer came to him suddenly, as twilight fell. An heir! Someone with his blood, his soul to carry on everything that the Dark Lord stood for. And the plan was formed._

_He came upon the poor pureblood in the middle of the night. He performed the work without remorse and left, never looking back. There was nothing inside of him to feel anything, but at least is legacy would be carried on. He would destroy the child and its mother when the battle was over. After all, this was just precaution._

That was January 1998. Now it's October. And the Heir of Slytherin was just born into the world, a helpless child. His father is dead. He has no idea who he was or what he did. Or that in twenty-four years' time he will be at the forefront of a revolution, bearing the mark of Lord Voldemort.


	2. August

_The voice comes from behind a large chair, its back to a pretty girl with blonde hair and blue eyes that look like they may, once, have sparkled. The girl looks old beyond her time, and she talks to the bodiless voice._

'_It is done, my Lord,' she announces, triumphant. 'The trap has been laid.'_

'_Good,' the voice, quite disillusioned from its looming persona, is pleasant; friendly, even. 'And how many times have I told you, my dear, _my Lord_ is my father.'_

'_Just once more then!' the girl laughs easily. The chair turns and a handsome young man of around twenty-four smiles at her. He is brown-haired, with light eyes and a sense of cheerfulness. He beckons to the girl and they kiss passionately, knowing where this victorious night – after years and years of preparation – will end. His hand creeps up the girl's top, and for a moment, it looks a little like the girl doesn't want to be there. But the flash vanishes and they fall back together onto the chair, wrapped in a false embrace._

**August**

I sweep around the tea shop, picking up plates and teapots and empty cups where the dregs of clotted cream remain. Three siblings, I guess, have just sat down around a table and the oldest, a good-looking guy with black hair and brown eyes, is eyeing my boobs.

I hear his brother admonish him and he lies, claiming that he was just checking my name for when I serve them.

'Lay-o-eeze,' he says with a flourish. 'There, I told you, Al, didn't I? Nothing dirty at all.'

His sister rolls her eyes.

I roll _my_ eyes, and decide to go and serve them. They are a little young to be in my parent's tea shop. People their age usually walk the ten steps down to the American-esque diner along the road. We normally just get these upper class old women who think that by being served by me they are getting younger. My parents agree with them. It's why I work in here for nothing at all. Cheap labour, for my too-wealthy parents.

'It's pronounced Lee-sha, actually,' I say, with a smile, opening my pad to a fresh page. 'What can I get you?'

The oldest boy has the grace to look embarrassed whilst his brother sniggers. 'A cappuccino, please,' he asks.

'Erm, this is a _tea _shop. If you want coffee, there's a Starbucks across the road.' I point to emphasise this fact. He looks like he's never heard of Starbucks before.

To be honest, most tea shops probably do offer coffee (what if you don't like tea?) but my parents point out that Starbucks monopolises the industry in our village (they were fully against getting a Boots and an H&M too) so why should we offer it? Their argument, not mine.

'We'll both have a Devonshire cream tea, please,' the girl (who has bright red hair and beautiful chocolate eyes and looks strangely familiar) says, glaring at her brother, who again looks like he has no idea what she is talking about.

'And I'll have a hot chocolate and a caramel slice,' says the second boy, politely, of course sounding just like those old women because he forgot to add the crucial non-word 'innit' to the end of his sentence. Like it would make sense even if it _was _a word.

I fetch their order and serve them, leaving them to it. I serve various other customers, most of them regulars, before I realise just who the girl looks like.

'Ginny Weasley!' I cry, thinking aloud. 'You look just like Harry Potter's girlfriend!'

'Wife, actually,' the first boy snorts.

'Why are you talking about our parents?' the girl asks suspiciously. 'I thought you were a muggle.'

I'm offended. I know that at one point the fact that I am the first in my family to have magic for centuries would have made me look bad, but I thought times had changed.

'What my sister means is that we've never seen you at Hogwarts, so we don't know you,' the middle boy smiles.

His sister starts to sulk. Judging by the amount of make-up she's wearing on her face to make herself look older and by default makes herself, in fact, look younger, she's about fourteen.

'Oh, I'm home-schooled. Kind of. My parents don't like magic much, so I've taught myself it ever since the Ministry wizard turned up to explain to them that I'm a witch. They don't know,' I grimace. It's such a lame sounding story, like something that one of my old friends used to cook up: 'My boyfriend's just been told he's got a week to live…' sob, sob, sniffle. She was ten; we didn't know anyone outside of school, and a boyfriend in those days meant holding hands with someone who sat next to you in Literacy and sharing grapes. Believable.

However, their faces clear. The middle boy smiles, ready innocence on his face. 'So you'll know all about Dad, then. There's so much stuff out there; it's fascinating!'

I pretend not to be disturbed by the fact that he seems to have researched his father and spot my mum glaring at me for chatting to customers. I move on, picking up the crockery an old couple have left behind and trying to look busy. Suddenly it begins to feel very cold and clammy. I glance around, shocked, trying to fathom what could have brought on my sudden bought of illness, as if I could accuse the tea shop itself, and notice that the three wizards are staring at something in horror. I follow their gaze and spot something tall and grey with scabbed skin and a large hole where its mouth ought to be. The muggles nearby are looking horrified but of course they cannot see the Dementor.

'Quick, Al, cast a Patronus!' the oldest boy says. The middle boy glares back at him.

'Firstly, I only know the theory – you cannot just perform it whenever you wish. It's a highly complex spell. _You _do it. Secondly, whilst I know that you would like me to end up in Azkaban, I do not wish to break the Decree for the Reasonable Restriction of Underage Sorcery!'

'You wouldn't be breaking it, it's desperate measures!'

By this point, the Dementors are inside our tea shop and the muggles are looking increasingly confused, not least because of the strange, heated argument the two boys.

The girl glares at her brothers and begins to dig into her handbag, apparently searching for something furiously. Across the room a baby starts crying sadly. My worst memory creeps into my mind and I drop the plate I'm holding. I've never had any practical experience with real, live Dark creatures and I panic. Where's my wand? I can't think of anything other than that awful night when I was eleven…

'Expecto patronum!' the girl cries, her eyes closed and a strained smile on her face. A brief burst of white light erupts from her wand and jolts her brothers into action. They both cast the charm and two Patronuses, fully-formed, burst out.

'Al, take Lily back home,' the oldest boy says firmly, as the Dementors back away from the Patronuses. 'I'll take Laoise.'

Before I can protest or even ask why I'm being taken back to someone's house when I've only ever served them tea, the oldest boy grabs my hand and suddenly there is a huge weight pressing down on me and I can't breathe. When everything re-materialises I see a pretty medium-sized cottage and a garden with sumptuous vegetables that look like they probably ought to have flourished a few months ago, but are still healthy now.

'Mum! Mum!' the boy cries, dragging me through the house and into the kitchen. 'Mum, Al's splinched himself and Lily's distraught. We were in a café in the next village and some Dementors attacked us. I don't know why –' he continues to babble on as his mum dashes around the room, banging drawers. She huffs.

'Accio chocolate!'

The chocolate soars through the air towards her. With another flick of her wand two pieces are sent towards me and the boy and I catch it and eat it. I feel better instantly.

'Thanks, Mum. Erm… this is Laoise…' he frowns at me, and his mum glances from me to him and down to our still clasped hands. We jerk apart immediately.

'Erm… Laoise Penny. Waitress,' I promptly stalk across the room and shake hands with her. 'You must be Ginny Potter? I would love to see you perform a Bat-Bogey Hex!' I compliment her. I'm acting like a snobby know-it-all but I'm scared, in an unfamiliar situation. What else can I do?

'Oh, well, thank you,' she says, embarrassed. 'I should go and see Al and Lily, excuse me. James, look after… Laoise.'

She hurries out, and I grimace. I've scared her out of her own home…

'Oh, snap!' I slap my hand to my forehead. Cartoon-character, I know. 'My wand – my clothes – they're all at home in my room!'

'You have a wand? I thought your parents didn't like magic. How have you ever been to Diagon Alley to buy one?' he asks suspiciously.

I'm caught. How do I answer this?

'I bought one off the Internet,' I say, a little too casually. 'You can find anything on there if you look hard enough.'

'What's the Internet?' he asks, confused. I open my mouth to explain, close it again, re-open it, and close it again. He sniggers.

'You look like a fish.'

'You look like a pug,' I retort.

'You look like a gnome.'

'You look like a house-elf.'

'You look like a Wrackspurt.'

'You look like a – what?'

He laughs, 'I win!'

I stick my tongue out and sit down at the large oak table in the middle of the room.

'Don't worry about your clothes and stuff. We can go to Diagon Alley and buy some more.'

'With what money? And why do you expect that I'm staying here? Tell me why I shouldn't just turn around and go home right now!'

'Well – I thought maybe you'd _want_ to stay. You could go to Hogwarts and learn real magic. And you can change pounds for Galleons at Gringotts…' he trails off, imploring me to agree. I nod sharply and exit abruptly.

Truthfully, I _do_ have money – I've saved up tips ever since I started working at the tea shop, and when all the customers are super-rich, a twenty-pound tip is considered small. I serve about one hundred customers a day. Well, it adds up.

I wander throughout the large house, and find various rooms. It seems they support the Chudley Cannons. I find this odd… I'm no Quidditch expert, but I'm pretty certain they haven't won a League in over a century.

The youngest girl (whose name is Lily, according to a sign on the door) has a large, tidy room in a pale blue colour with white skirting boards. It's very pretty. She has apparently just finished her homework, because a large, heavy-looking, leather-bound book lies open on a page entitled 'The Unforgiveable Curses – a guide'. I investigate closer and am repulsed. They're so cruel. The room looks like a typical muggle room, except instead of Stephenie Meyer and Enid Blyton and JK Rowling and Roald Dahl adorning the bookshelves, there are things like Bathilda Bagshot, Miranda Goshawk (four, well-battered editions from this author), Adaalbert Waffling, Emeric Switch, Beedle the Bard… Her wand and cauldron are to one side, the cauldron being stuffed full of dirty laundry and on top, a tattered copy of _Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them_, labelled with 'Property of Harry Potter,' scored out, 'James Potter,' also scored out, 'Albus Potter,' scribbled out angrily and then, 'Lily Potter,' with a smiley face and the word 'finally' written in tiny writing before the paper runs out. I laugh and turn to walk out before she can find me here, and criticise me for breaching her privacy.

'Why are you in my room?' Too late.

'I was just leaving. You have a very nice room,' I say hopefully, giving her an award-winning smile.

'Yes, I do. And you're ruining it. Out!' she shrieks and I jump. Hot-tempered, much, I think. She continues to glare at me as I skulk towards the door and leave. I cross the hallway and see the eldest boy – James, judging by his name being just under his father's on that book – smirking at me.

'You're a girl. Don't you get that mad when your siblings go into your room?'

'I don't have any siblings. And not _all_ girls are like her. I think she has PMT.'

'She has that _all_ the time, then,' he laughs. 'Mum says you can have the spare room. And we'll take the Knight Bus to Diagon Alley tomorrow, because the last time we Flooed, Al turned up in Knockturn Alley and Lily complained about the soot she got in her hair. She didn't used to be like that. She used to be fun,' he grimaced. I wonder what his idea of fun is.

A large crack interrupts our awkward silence, and a voice calls, 'Dad's home!' He shrugs and takes my hand, leading me down the stairs into the kitchen.

' – so now I have to go and clear up this mess, and figure out why someone let Dementors breach the International Statute of Wizarding Secrecy. Thank God the Obliviator Squad have already done their bit,' a man with jet-black hair and startling green eyes is saying to Mrs Potter. I recognise him immediately. 'We should've known not to have kids, Ginny – not with my track record for trouble!' he laughs easily, and apparently I'm the only person to notice that it doesn't quite reach his eyes. Either that or they're used to it.

'Yeah, but Dad, you couldn't live without me,' Lily says, to all-round chuckles. 'Has Uncle Ron figured out who Rose is dating yet?'

'No, but I'm sure we can all guess. I'm looking forward to his face when he figures it out!'

James laughs and says, 'Well, Scorpius is all right really. Ron's just jealous because he's a dad.'

'You will be too, one day,' I point out.

'Why, are you offering to be the mother?' he retorts immediately.

I smirk, glancing down at our hands, 'Maybe,' I say slyly. I think he must have something about holding my hand, because that's twice now. But I'm not letting go if he's not. And I'm certainly not admitting how aware I am of him.

'Ew!' Lily covers her ears with her hands. 'I can never un-imagine that!'

James roars with laughter, as does Albus.

'On that note, I shall take my leave,' Mr Potter says. He hugs his daughter and kisses his wife, before Disapparating.

'You have a sick mind, Lily,' Albus says. 'Only you would actually _imagine_ someone having sex.'

'I blame Hugo. I used to be innocent before he hit puberty. I'm going to Avada Kedavra the guy who invented "That's what she said,"' Lily comments.

'That's enough of that, thank you,' Mrs Potter says. 'Tea will be ready soon, so don't go too far away,' she adds as we all stand up to leave. 'Could someone show Laoise where the spare room is?'

'I'll do it,' James offers, as if it's something incredibly difficult that only he can achieve. Albus sniggers, to a glare from James.

He leads me to the back of the house, still on the ground floor, to a small but secluded room with a lot of clutter and a sofa bed in the middle. It looks half-decorated, with odd bits of furniture and peeling wallpaper in a deep brown. The red curtains are shut, giving the south-facing room a warm glow. I love it instantly.

'Wow.'

'I know, huh? Who would've thought it would turn out like this? Mum and Dad wanted to convert it into a dining room, but then we started getting loads of visitors for some reason and they just chucked a sofa bed in here and now it's like a store room. Me and Al love it – we used to play in here when we were kids.'

He wanders around the room, stroking things and I know that he's remembering hide-and-seek, building indoor dens when the rain comes and playing tig. He's had such a different upbringing from me; his parents seem like cool people who care about him. He's carefree, and I, on the other hand, am bitter, because I missed out on being muggle-born. I'm just a muggle who tries to do magic. I walk over to him and lean my head on his shoulder.

'You know my Dad was my age when he defeated Voldemort? I've never done anything worthwhile in my whole life,' he sighs wistfully. 'I wish I was still small enough to creep into the gap between those two cupboards and hide away from everything.'

'You've cracked some pretty funny jokes,' I say, smiling. He laughs half-heartedly. I wrap my arms around him, trying to comfort him and he hugs me back tightly. I know he's just holding onto me because I'm there, but I can't deny that it feels pretty good. I don't think I've ever felt more safe or loved in my life. I feel his lips touch my hair and my heart does a back flip. How have we gone from mispronouncing my name to this in only a few hours?

'I really wasn't staring at your boobs earlier, you know. I was trying to meet your eyes again, because they're really, really deep.'

I'm flattered, but shake my head against his shoulder. He's lying. My eyes are burned out and empty.

I don't know how long we stay like that for, but after a while Mrs Potter calls, 'Dinner!' and the moment ends. We eat hurriedly, too embarrassed to hang around, and he goes to his room the minute he's finished wolfing down the meal. His family stare after him. I hang my head in shame, before leaving too, without another word.

I wake the next day to knocking on my door.

'Laoise! Hurry up; we want a full day in Diagon Alley!' yells a voice that sounds suspiciously like Al's.

I groan and shake my head to rid it of sleepy-birds and roll out of bed. The thud on the floor wakes me up. I swiftly pull on the clothes from yesterday, rolling my eyes at my lack of clean underwear.

There's a lovely, mind-numbing bustle in the kitchen, as people grab bits of toast and down mugs of tea and try to stop croissants from burning in the grill. I notice that Mr Potter's still missing. Mrs Potter is trying to hide her worried face from her children, but I notice it.

Eventually even Lily is ready to go, and Mrs Potter sticks out her right hand. Apparently this is normal behaviour, because no one bats an eyelid except me. A loud bang interrupts the quiet morning and a three-floor, bright purple bus thunders to a stop in front of us. I climb aboard, ignoring everything around me. I wish I had my iPod, not that it would work with all the magic around.

Albus and me indulge in conversation about nothing, and I catch a glimpse of Mrs Potter drawing random lines on her window. I shrug, and re-join the conversation, which Lily has now interrupted.

After a while, I get bored and lean my head on my window. I turn to ask Mrs Potter when we'll arrive at Diagon Alley, but my words are lost when I see the haunting, tragic and broken look on her face. She looks like someone who has just returned from war, and lost those closest to her. Only then do I realise that what she was drawing on the window were tear tracks.


	3. September

_When they break apart, the girl beams at him._

'_We shall stand and rise, tonight! We shall bring down the Mudbloods and the Muggles! We shall reign victorious!' she laughs manically._

'_And of your family, my dear?'_

'_Pah! They are not my family! They shunned me – hid me from the world. From you, my love. Now I shall shun them,' the bitterness in her voice is unmistakeable, and the man smiles slyly._

'_Then let us prepare the final steps.'_

**September**

My first encounter with Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry went as smoothly as it could have done, in my eyes. Professor McGonagall, the Headmistress, tested my skills in about every subject area possible and deemed me 'able to take OWLs'. Unfortunately I am now in Fifth Year, despite me being sixteen, so that I can sit them, and have an unreasonable amount of work to do so that I can pass them.

I didn't tell any of the teachers that I had a secret tutor for five years, and nor did I tell the Potters that. No one need know. It doesn't matter to me. Let them think I'm some sort of wizarding prodigy. Although I'm studying Transfiguration at the moment and it's _hard_. Of all the things I can do, I can't Transfigure anything. Professor McGonagall has me stuck on matches into needles, like the First Years.

'Whatcha doin'?' asks Al, coming to peer over my shoulder.

'The one thing I'm bad at,' I growl.

'It's because you're frustrated,' he says. 'It's always easier when you're relaxed. Hey, Rose!' Al beckons to his cousin.

Rose is so cool. Well, as cool as someone with the brain of computer can be. Her red hair bounces as she stalks up to us.

'Al, I'm trying to complete an essay on Felix Felicis. Make it quick.'

'Help Laoise to transfigure that match, would you? You're good at Transfiguration.'

'So are you,' she glares at him, but she sits down. 'Okay. The theory is that you need to _want _it to happen, because it would be useful to you.'

'I do want it to happen! It would be _useful_ to pass this class!'

'Well then, say the spell and make sure you believe it will happen. That's the magic part. If you believe it will happen, it will.'

'What is this, a Disney movie?' I growl at her, but she simply beams at me, infuriating me further. I take a deep breath and point my wand at the match. I mutter the spell with my eyes closed, and with every fibre of my being hope that it has worked. When I open them, however, there is still a match lying there. I swear loudly, to gasps from some nearby First Years, who I silence with a glare.

'Try again. You'll be Vanishing objects in no time, trust me,' Rose smiles. Her faith in me seems to have restored by bruised pride, and this time, when I do the spell, it works. I breathe a sigh of relief.

'Now do the rest of the box,' she says, getting up. I huff, but oblige. Al follows her, begging for help with their Felix Felicis essay. James sidles up beside me.

'You're confusing the Second Years, doing First _and _Fifth Year work,' he says with a smile.

'Oh yeah? It serves them right, having done this already. They could've helped.'

'Which would have offended you – don't deny it,' he smirks.

'It's not fair! It's my first week here and I've barely unpacked before the work is dumped on me! You only have three subjects now; you're lucky. I have eleven.'

'Be grateful they accepted you! You got sorted into Gryffindor, which is lucky, you got to choose your subjects instead of having them thrust upon you and I'm letting you try out for the Quidditch team, even though you've never mounted a broom before!'

I snort at James's list of good things, 'You're letting me try out because you love me.'

'No, it's because I need a laugh,' he sighs. 'And most students who move here from being home-schooled or sent abroad have a hard time. Most people seem to like you.'

This is true – my relationship with James has blossomed and whilst he hasn't officially asked me out, everyone knows that we're together. Not that we can do anything or go anywhere until the next Hogsmeade weekend (the slip which Harry and Ginny thankfully signed). I have an amazing friend in Rose (when she's not working across the room at 'her' spot, which she always seems to be doing) and Al seems to be everyone's best friend. He's the most popular prefect, by far. If a kid's in trouble, it's him they go to. He seems to have become the epitome of Gryffindor-ness.

I'm still a loner. I snuck back home one night in August and got my stuff (I was suffering withdrawal symptoms without my iPod, and James' Granddad Arthur modified it for me so it would work with all the magic) so I sometimes just curl up on my new, luxurious, four-poster bed and play Chinese Patience with my old, burned out pack of cards, but most nights I'm down in the Common Room, laughing and joking with the rest of the Gryffindors. It makes a change to feel popular.

'So what are you doing this evening, then?' James asks, breaking the silence.

'Nothing. That matches thing was the last piece of work I had to do, thank God.'

'You do realise that nobody in the Wizarding world has ever, ever said thank God, right? That's a muggle phrase,' he smiles at me, and I roll my eyes. I can't change the way I speak. 'Come on. I want to show you somewhere.'

He stands up and takes my hand. We battle our way through the hoard of students crammed into the tiny room and out of the hole in the wall. Apparently this is what people call it, but I still have to remind myself every time that in the wizarding world there's no such thing as a cash machine.

We get out and he throws a cloak over us.

'What's this for? It's not exactly cold, James,' I frown.

'It's an invisibility cloak. Technically it's Al's, but I use it more often so I don't get caught by teachers when I go out to see Hagrid. Al only has to say he's on Prefect Duty and he gets away with it. It was my dad's originally.'

So this is the fabled cloak of Harry Potter. I examine it with my hands in wonder. It's incredibly beautiful and old. I think back to something I've heard about some Hallowed objects with a cloak like this. But they aren't, _can't_ be real. It's impossible!

James starts walking and it jolts me back to Earth. I follow him carefully and soon he pulls out a roll of parchment. Seriously, the guy is screwed up. The parchment's blank.

'I solemnly swear I am up to no good,' he whispers, tapping the parchment with his wand. Where his wand touched it, lines sprout in every direction and before long it is filled with a perfect map of Hogwarts, with the words 'Messrs Moony, Wormtail, Padfoot and Prongs' written along the top. There's more, but I can't read it because James is looking for something on it.

'Okay, Filch is on the third floor Charms corridor, but we don't need to go that way. Come on,' he mutters, grabbing my hand and dragging me back up the corridor.

'What is that thing?' I ask incredulously.

'It's the Marauder's Map. It shows where everyone in the school is right now, plus all the secret passageways in and out. I stole it off my dad and have been using it ever since,' he grins at me. I laugh quietly and we keep running.

'Stop!' he whisper-yells. 'Slughorn's coming this way. Move in and don't breathe,' he orders.

'But if I stop breathing, I'll die!' I whine. A fleeting grin passes over his face but it's stopped short when we see Slughorn turn the corner.

We back into the wall as quickly and quietly as possible and watch anxiously as he walks past, apparently in a daydream.

'We should go back – we're going to get caught!' I breathe at him.

'Who's the voice of reason now? Stop acting like Rose and come on. There's not far to go now.'

We go up yet another flight of stairs, creeping past Mrs Norris, the caretaker's whacko cat, and dashing along a final corridor. James begins to pace and I start to worry for his sanity, because I'm pretty sure Mrs Norris saw us, and anytime now Filch will turn up.

Abruptly, a door appears.

'Come on,' he smiles at me, and leads me into the room. 'Welcome to the Room of Requirement. A place of wonder. Over here we have -' I interrupt his tour-guide speech by hitting his arm. He grimaces.

'Someone will hear you!'

'No they won't. No one can get in, not whilst we're in here anyway. I've sealed it.'

'Wow.'

'I know. It's cool, right? You can make it do anything you want. Dad says he used to hold these club meetings in here when he was fifteen, and it was a hideout during the Second Wizarding War. Apparently it was destroyed by Fiendfyre – that's cursed fire – in the Battle of Hogwarts, but it seems to be tougher than it looks because it's still here, and Professor Longbottom says it works better than ever, except for the permanent burning smell.'

'That is very cool,' I approve. 'Another secret hideout for you, then?'

'Yeah. A place to work, a place to sleep – an escape, really. I like it.'

'What's that?' I ask, pointing to a large cabinet that dominates the Room, apparently the only thing that doesn't look burnt or even tarnished.

'Vanishing cabinet – one of a pair. It's got protective spells on it though – I can't get rid of it.'

'Didn't the fire destroy it?'

'You'd have thought so. Fiendfyre can destroy heaps of things – spells, Horcruxes and stuff, but apparently not a Vanishing cabinet.'

'Random.'

'Tell me about it.'

'What's a Horcrux?' I'm on fire. There's so much I want to ask him, about Hogwarts and wizards and does he like me like that and the Marauder's Map and the Room and I find myself sitting down and listening, for the first time since we met, to everything he has to say. He tells me about Horcruxes and his Dad's story and how his parents are broken hearted by their losses from the war but they lived so they move on and Transfiguring matches and Polyjuice Potion. I'm fascinated. There's so much I never knew about anything. I've spent my life researching Harry Potter, but hearing it from James makes it seem real.

There's a pause in the conversation and abruptly, James kisses me. I'm momentarily surprised but I kiss him back.

_I love you_, I think. I shake my head – that's stupid, I've only known the guy a month. I'm just dizzy from that (amazing, my heart thinks) kiss.

'Sorry.'

'Don't be.'

We sit there in a beautiful silence for much longer however, and it takes me the entire time until we leave to realise that we're still holding hands.


	4. October

'_Are you sure they will come, my dear?'_

'_I am quite certain. They are very forgiving.'_

'_Excellent. This will be the start of the regime. Let us hurt those who hurt us, is it not so?'_

_The girl nods in agreement. 'They deserve it, for what their name has brought to us. Blood traitors!' she cries, her cackle spreading throughout the dark night._

**October**

Fifth Year Herbology is completely and utterly _not fun_. Professor Longbottom is a complete klutz outside of the classroom – he's the one teacher I might actually confide in just because his mental age is probably equivalent to that of a teenager's – but in the classroom (or greenhouses in this case), he's bossy and annoying and teacher-ish. I mean, Herbology's interesting, and I'm not exactly bad at the subject, but I don't enjoy it. I think I prefer Transfiguration, if I'm honest. It's a close second-bottom.

Take this, for example: the Venomous Tentacula tried to strangle me the other day. I screamed a pretty bad swear word, which resulted in Colin Creevey II having to beat it off me. I think it's pretty fair that I was scared. I nearly died. But no, Professor Longbottom puts me in detention re-potting Mandrakes and writing out twenty times 'I must not swear in the greenhouses in case I teach them to the Parrot-plant'. And when I tried to protest, he threatened me with having to sit alone in Greenhouse Three for a night. With the Venomous Tentacula. I think he found his soul mate in that plant.

Colin Creevey II, my eternal Herbology partner and total idiot-with-a-camera, is currently photographing our homework project that we (thankfully) have been given time to complete in the lesson. Apparently the report on it is worth about a third of our final grade, so Colin thinks that filling most of said report with photos will get us an O. I disagree, so I'm actually writing the report. By hand. I miss my computer. Plus, coursework is an addition to the new OWL specification that the Ministry of Magic has imposed, because it gets muggles better grades, so it must get wizards better grades too. Allegedly.

'Colin, would you stop that? I think we have enough pictures of our dying plant,' I snap, irritated. It's hard writing a conclusion to an investigation when said investigation epically failed.

'Sorry. Do you think I should just develop them normally, the muggle way, since the plant doesn't move anyway?'

'I don't know, Colin, okay? I'd develop them the wizard way so you don't confuse poor Longbottom. But I'd really appreciate your help with this. Does mandrake juice affect the growth of daffodils?'

'Yes. It kills them,' he says, still taking pictures.

'But that's not what's supposed to happen! It's supposed to make them flourish, walk and sing! They become mandrake-like!'

He shrugs. 'I don't know, do I? That's why I'm taking these photos. To _distract_ from our horrible essay.'

'It is not horrible!' I cry. 'And it would be better if you put the effort in!'

He shakes his head and ignores me. I raise my hand, glaring at Colin. He catches my eye and grins. He's such a boy.

'Yes, Miss Penny?' Professor Longbottom says wearily.

'What do I put, sir? Since our investigation couldn't have gone worse?'

'Your conclusions are what your results show. So you have a – ah – _dead_ daffodil here,' he frowns, evidently confused as to how we have gone so wrong. 'So your conclusion would be that mandrake juice kills daffodils. Which is wrong, but it's what you found. Then you need to evaluate your research. Good luck with that,' he pats me on the back sympathetically and moves on to Parkinson, a Slytherin who seems incapable of forming a coherent sentence.

'Ha! I _told_ you that was our conclusion! You didn't believe me!' Colin smirks. I glare at him and his smirk grows. He's infuriating.

I'm finishing the conclusion as the magical bell that floats through the school and grounds rings.

'Finish your evaluation for next lesson!' Longbottom yells above the noise. Everyone groans.

'But that's _Monday_! And it's Hogsmeade tomorrow!' someone wails. Longbottom ignores the voice.

I thrust my things into my bag and dash out. James is waiting for me, leaning against a nearby tree. He grins as I run up to him.

'You took your time,' he says.

'My conclusion is rubbish. My daffodil died,' I grimace. 'And Colin Creevey II is an idiot.'

'His dad was the same, apparently. Dad says that Colin Creevey used to follow him around when he was in Second Year, and then his brother, Dennis, did the same. Colin died in the Second Wizarding War, so his nephew has his namesake, like my cousin Fred.'

'And personality-sake, by the look of things!'

James grins again. 'So, the first Hogsmeade weekend tomorrow,' he begins, slowly and deliberately. I try to hide the fact that my eyes light up. It's _not_ because it looks like he's asking me… 'Want to come with me? I can show you Honeydukes, and the Shrieking Shack and everything. It's really cool.'

Yes! Yes _yes _YES!

'Sure, okay. But your parents withdrew my slip after the last time I was in trouble. No thanks to you.'

'You think that matters? I have something better than a slip,' his eyes twinkle mischievously. 'But I'll have to meet you in the afternoon; I've got a detention with Filch.'

I roll my eyes. 'You are not making me help you get out of it this time.'

'Nah, it's cool. Al is helping me instead,' his eyes flash again. 'I'll meet you at one, outside that statue of the witch with the hump on the third floor.'

'Cool. So what have you got now?'

'Arithmancy. You?'

'Defence against the Dark Arts.'

'Oh, cool. Dad's lecturing today – you're having a mixed group with the Sixth Years.'

'I should be in Sixth Year,' I grumble. James pats my arm patronisingly and we turn down the Charms corridor.

'James, don't you have Arithmancy? It's the other way,' Rose says, marching up to us. 'I think Laoise knows the way to Defence by now…'

James ignores her. 'I'll see you tomorrow, Laoise,' he says, smiling at me. He kisses me on the cheek and walks away.

'No you won't James Potter! You are attending Filch's detention!' Rose yells after him.

'Ah, leave him be, Rosie,' I say. 'He's not hurting anyone.'

'You speak as if he's a baby,' Rose comments snottily. 'He's seventeen – he should know how to behave.' She folds her arms grumpily.

'Why are you in such a foul mood?'

'Scorpius Malfoy! Oh, he annoys me!'

'Your _boyfriend_ annoys you?' I ask incredulously. We lean against the wall, waiting for Defence to begin.

'He's not my boyfriend!' Rose announces furiously. 'I might've kissed him a few times, just to annoy Dad… But that gives him no right to prance around like some overpaid Quidditch player claiming that I'm another notch on his belt!'

'Rose, _did_ you sleep with him?' I ask tentatively, not mentioning that she plays Quidditch for Gryffindor, or that the entirety of Gryffindor tower and the Potter/Weasley family did think she and He Who Must Not Be Named II are actually dating.

'Of course not!' she exclaims, affronted. She glowers at me for even suspecting her of such a thing.

'I'm just saying… I've seen you party. You couldn't have been drunk?'

'Not that drunk. Hi, Uncle Harry,' she says sternly, changing the subject. It's bizarre how she can act like a swotty know-it-all most of the time, but be ridiculously like those detested overpaid Quidditch players the next.

'Hi, Rose, Laoise,' Mr Potter says brightly. 'How's school? Are you coming in?'

The class troop in after Mr Potter, apparently unsurprised that the famous Harry Potter, Boy Who Lived, Chosen One, defeater of Voldemort, Head Auror, and defender of all things good is taking their lesson.

'Okay, today we're going to go over the Unforgivable Curses. I know that they're a fourth-year topic, but the new OWL and NEWT specifications require you to have more experience than just a basic knowledge. We can thank Kingsley Shacklebolt's own interference for that. Now, what do you know already?'

I see Colin Creevey II hanging onto Mr Potter's every word. His hand darts up. Rose and I roll our eyes simultaneously. 'We know what they are, Mr Potter, sir, but we don't know how to work them or anything, and we haven't learnt any case studies we can use in the exam,' he babbles.

'I think he'd wind up marrying Dad if gay marriage were legal,' Albus whispers from behind us. I laugh.

'Er, thank you Colin,' Mr Potter says awkwardly. 'Okay, what are the Unforgivable Curses?'

There's a silence. Rose, Al and I raise our hands.

'Only three people? Colin, I thought you said everyone knew what they are.'

Colin blushes. 'Sorry, sir.' Rose's hand begins to wave.

'Alright, Rose,' Mr Potter says in a bored manner, as though used to Rose's class tendencies.

'The Cruciatus Curse, the Imperius Curse and the Avada Kedavra Curse. That's all we were taught last year. I know that the current fourth years have been set a great deal more work on it than we were, but a number of parents and teachers were concerned about insufficient training so we didn't learn much,' she tells Mr Potter in one breath. Mr Potter tuts.

'I'm surprised you haven't looked them up, Rose.'

Now Rose blushes. 'My mum thinks that I shouldn't be learning them yet.'

Mr Potter looks concerned. 'That's not the Hermione Weasley I know. She always thought education was the best way forwards.'

Rose shrugs. I raise my hand again.

'Sir, the three Unforgivable Curses are the most evil curses known to wizard, essentially because they are varying forms of thievery. The Cruciatus Curse tortures; it steals the right to answer freely. The Imperius Curse controls; it steals the right to free will. The Avada Kedavra Curse kills; it steals the right to life. It was the use of these three curses during the Second Wizarding War that caused the Ministry of Magic to make the then-Prime Minister Tony Blair to enforce the Human Rights Act. These rights are now applicable to all human beings: Muggles, Mudbloods, half-bloods and pure-bloods, and there are even graver punishments for breaching those rights now.'

Mr Potter looks impressed. 'Nice analogy, although I wouldn't quite say it works for the Cruciatus Curse. Did you get it from _The Kite Runner_?'

I nod.

'A fine book, according to my wife,' he grins. 'Alright, let us build upon Miss Penny's analogy!'

The lesson continues in a very fun manner, but I can't help feeling that I've shown too much knowledge. My tutor was a great wizard, the son of a great wizard and he felt it important that I know how to defend myself by any means, but no one else can know what he taught me, if we want to succeed. I just _know_ Rose and Al will ask questions.

'Alright, read up on the Unforgivable Curses for Professor Boot. If any Sixth Years need slips for the Restricted Section, owl me through Albus.' Mr Potter promptly walks out exactly as the bell goes.

'Come on, you two, I'm starving,' Al says, evidently glad that his father has left.

'I'm not eating tonight – I've got a major report to write up for Longbottom by tomorrow,' I announce. 'I'll speak to you guys later.'

I stalk off to Gryffindor tower, give the password ('bowtruckle') and walk into the middle of a fight between James and his Chaser, Michael Wood.

'What do you mean, you're not allowed to play for the rest of the year?' James demands.

'I got into a spot of bother with some Slytherins and a broomstick so I'm not allowed to play now…' Wood says sheepishly.

'But you have Slytherin friends!' James cries.

'Not anymore,' Wood says miserably. 'I'm sorry, James. You're going to have to hold Chaser try-outs.'

James had already held try-outs for the team, but I had turned him down despite his offer. I see no way that I could be any good on a broomstick.

'What's going on?' Rose asks, as she and Albus climb through the portrait hole.

'We're holding Chaser try-outs,' James fumes. 'Tonight!' he adds loudly so that everyone in the common can hear him. 'Our next game's in a fortnight, damn it.' He storms off to the boys dormitories, and returns with a broomstick. 'Rose, Roxanne, I'm going to need you too.'

Al adds, 'I'll find Jacob Thomas and Ethan Finnigan. Want to come to watch some Quidditch, Laoise?'

'Alright,' I say, reluctantly.

We find Jacob and Ethan and Al's broomstick and traipse down to the Quidditch pitch. The boys take it upon themselves to teach me the rules of Quidditch.

'Right, there are seven players and four balls,' Al begins. 'The Chasers and Keeper play with the Quaffle.'

'I'm a Chaser, and so is Rose,' Ethan interjects. 'It's our job to score by throwing the Quaffle through one of three hoops, and the Keeper, Roxanne, defends those hoops. We score ten points if we succeed.'

'Me and James are Beaters,' says Jacob. 'There are these balls that fly around trying to beat people up-'

'That's _not_ what they do, Jake…'

'…and we have to hit them towards the other team. Then there's Al. He's the Seeker.'

'I have to catch the Golden Snitch, which ends the game and earns us one hundred and fifty points.'

'We like the Snitch,' says Jake evilly. 'My precious…'

'I'm not sure I do. I got beaten up last year because it was next to my elbow,' frowns Ethan.

'Yeah, sorry about that…'

Jake, Ethan and Albus continue to discuss the many rules and fouls of Quidditch, such as blagging, stooging and Snitchnipping. I pretend to be interested. After what feels like years, we wind up at the Quidditch pitch. There is a huddle of Gryffindors with broomsticks, waiting to try out.

Half an hour later, a Chaser still hasn't been found and there's only one person left.

'Alright, Isabella. You try,' James says doubtfully. Al informs me that she alternates commentating with Lorcan and Lysander Scamander.

James throws his broom down in frustration when Isabella succeeds in missing every shot possible.

'Anyone else? Laoise, do you want to try?'

More out of pity than actually feeling a thrill for the sport, I agree to get on a broomstick. I kick off and suddenly I realise that this isn't so bad. It's actually quite fun. Rose passes the Quaffle to me and I catch it easily. I toss it to Ethan who throws it back to me. James yells 'Shoot' and I put it through the hoop. There's a great deal of cheering from the ground.

Somehow I manage to only miss twice, which was thanks to James turning some Bludgers on me, and I've made the team. I start to argue with James.

'What makes you think I'll be any good?' I demand crossly as we walk back up to the dormitories. 'Why should I play?'

'_You_ don't need to be brilliant. Rose and Ethan are, so it doesn't matter if you're not. But it'll be fun. Anyway, I need a third Chaser and everyone else was horrible. So come on!'

'Oh, that makes me feel better!' I say, glaring. 'Fine, I'll do it. When do you practise?'

'Tuesdays, Thursdays and Fridays. Now go to bed and I'll see you tomorrow for Hogsmeade,' he says in a superior tone. I hit him on the arm and he leans down and kisses me.

'Damn you,' I grumble.

'You love me really.'

'Humph.' I march up the stairs to my dormitory, but despite my frustration at being roped into a pointless sport, I feel that tomorrow could be the best day ever and with that in mind, I fall asleep easily.


	5. November

**A/N: This was a hard chapter to write. My original draft had a completely different plot but I scrapped it because it wasn't going anywhere. More to the point, it gave too much away, and we've got all the way round to July to wait for the big finale of this fic! I hope you like. :) Review!**

November

It's lunchtime. Nom. Actually, I can't be bothered to eat. I'm filled up with happiness. I don't think anyone's ever cared for me as much as James has. How can that be?

'Hey, Laoise!' Lily says, a mischievous smirk on her face. Did I mention that this girl annoys the hell out of me? 'Do you do Divination?'

'No,' I reply shortly. 'Go away.' I glare at her pointedly, and her smirk grows.

'What did you dream last night?'

'Who wants to know?'

'You shouldn't answer a question with a question, Leesh. Do you mind if I call you that. Leesh. _Leesh_,' she tastes the word out on her tongue. My scowl deepens.

'Yes, I do, actually. Now leave me alone.'

'Well, Leesh, I need my homework doing. And I can't remember any of my most recent dreams, so I can't analyse them. What did _you_ last dream about?'

It all becomes clear. Lily wants to know how far I've gone with her brother.

'Here, Hugo, Leesh is helping us with Divination,' she calls to her cousin, who's sitting with some other Fourth Years across the common room. He saunters over.

'Does she have any dreams to share with us?'

I scowl at Hugo, too. 'No, I don't. Why don't you make them up, like everyone else?'

'Well, they might be unrealistic,' Lily says sweetly. 'I mean, who really dreams that they flew right into the Eiffel Tower?'

Hugo snorts. 'It was better than your idea.' He puts on a false girly voice. '_Oh, Professor Trelawney, I dreamt that I swam around the world in a great big loop. It was wonderful!'_

'You both should've taken Arithmancy. It's far more interesting,' I announce.

'Oh, come on, Laoise, please just tell us,' Hugo begs.

'Last night I dreamt of Manderley again,' I tell them, rolling my eyes. They look at me like I've grown a second head.

'Who's Manderley?'

'It's a building – the fictional estate from _Rebecca_.' This apparently resolves nothing.

'Is that a textbook?'

'No, it's not,' I say, my temper growing. Do they know _nothing_? 'And for your information, _Lily_, it is none of your business whether I'm sleeping with James or not. That's between me and him.'

'So you are!' Lily says triumphantly. I'm not, but like I said, it's none of her business. Lily's smirk returns and she flounces off to meet a group of giggly Fourth Year girls who clearly want to know what I just told her. I can hear her exaggerating everything now.

I sigh wearily, and lose myself in the memory of Hogsmeade. James had enthusiastically shown me Honeydukes, The Three Broomsticks, the post office and Weasley's Wizard Wheezes, which his Uncle Ron part owned. I'd stocked up on various pranks, not to mention Skiving Snackboxes so that I didn't have to ever sit another Herbology lesson again.

We'd then trekked up to the Shrieking Shack, and James, in a very un-James manner, gave me the history lesson about it. Apparently, his cousin Victoire's fiancé Teddy Lupin's dad was a werewolf who worked for the Order of the Phoenix. When he was at Hogwarts the Wolfsbane Potion hadn't been invented so he used to come to the Shack to transform. There was a long, complicated story about how James's grandfather James and his friends had become animagi and then how Peter Pettigrew had betrayed Harry Potter's parents to Voldemort and faked his own death by transforming into a rat. It went on that Mr Potter's godfather Sirius Black had escaped Azkaban that way and then died (or something), which cleared his name and revealed that Voldemort actually was back and that Mr Potter wasn't a cracked up liar. I didn't understand it, either.

Nonetheless, it'd been the best day of my life. The only problem is, I'm falling for James. That isn't part of the plan. He can't get hurt, and if… Well, no one can know about my feelings. I'm not meant to have feelings. I've got a job to do and no one can get in my way, especially not the Potter children. Not Lily so much, because if it weren't for House loyalty I'd have hexed her already, but Albus and James needn't get involved.

I spend the rest of lunch contemplating this, and by the time the bell rang I've resolved myself. It's the only way to protect James, because to see him get hurt will only worsen the situation. I can't let that happen. Why is life so complicated?


	6. December

**A/N: This chapter's been written for a while. It's based on Back to December by Taylor Swift, which was the original inspiration for this fic. It's just so perfect! Review, pwetty pwease. :D**

December

I stand in the cold, my flimsy jacket flying like wings behind me in the harsh, merciless wind. The snow is coming down hard now, in swirls that look pretty when they catch the light of the charmed flames outside Hagrid's hut. I envy the warmth of that welcoming little hut, but there is something I must do. I withdraw into the shade of the trees.

A figure suddenly emerges through the snow, the light from his wand not reaching more than a few inches in front of him.

'Lord, give me the strength to do this,' I whisper, but my words are lost to the darkness. As if there's someone good watching me. No, there's only that evil bastard piercing through my most treasured memories. Should Occlumency fail, I must protect him…

'Hey,' James says, leaning down to kiss my cheek. I let him, breathing in his fresh scent once more. He casts some spells around the area to keep the snow away and make sure that we are hidden. 'Merry Christmas.' He thrusts a sodden-looking bunch of roses into my hands. I laugh mirthlessly.

'James,' I say gently, looking deep into his brown eyes. He nods.

'I know.'

'It's not you, really.'

'I know that too.'

'I'm sorry.'

'No, you're not. Otherwise you'd let us get through this.'

'What?' I exclaim, shocked. Does he not understand what I'm doing? 'I'm not being selfish, if that's what you mean.' My eyes narrow. I've played this sequence so many times through my head since last month and James had never said that.

'Yes, you are! Look, just go, Laoise. I don't need you.'

I stalk past him arrogantly, hurt and angry and upset. I reach the boundary of the spells he cast and hear his voice, just as broken as I feel, echo through the darkness.

'Mudblood!'

I turn and give him a long, hard look. How dare he? I expect it from Slytherin bigots, not the boy I'm in love with. I _had_ to end this; I can't have him hurt. But I guess now it doesn't matter.

I throw the horrible, blood-red roses onto the earth to die. I don't need him either.

I trudge through the snow, thinking over Quidditch practise and all the times I wound up crying because I thought nothing would ever go right way back in September. I remember how, in August, he passed his Muggle driving test and offered to take me for a drive. I'd watched him laugh as I'd sat in the passenger seat and clutched the handle of the car door in terror, a pillow strapped around my waist and a bike helmet on my head, checking that the old Ford Fiesta had airbags for when we crashed. I try to stop the tears from falling, but refuse to turn back and look at him. He's not worth it, he's not worth it, he's not worth it… He's just a boy…

I maintain my composure and steady pace until I reach the big, oak doors of the castle. I break into a run, tears streaming uncontrollably down my face. I don't bother with a disillusionment charm to conceal myself. I fly past Mrs Norris, too upset to even aim a kick at the cat and eventually reach the Fat Lady. I snap the password at the portrait and storm through the crowded common room. I'd forgotten that it's only early evening due to the darkness outside. I slam the door to my dormitory and find myself alone. I stand in the middle of the circular room, my breathing heavy. I see the pristine red and gold hangings. I see the gorgeous mahogany four-poster beds. I see girls' lilac bags and tea tree shampoo and perfume bottles.

'_Diffindo!_' I cry, flinging my wand all around me. I want to the room to _break_. _'Diffindo! Diffindo! Diffindo! Petrificus totalus!' _I shriek as a Prefect walks into to enquire what the noise is. '_Diffindo!_' I slide to the floor, curled up in a tight ball and rock back and forwards uncontrollably.

'I know… I _just know_… you're not gone, you can't be gone,' I whisper, over and over. 'No!' I cry, and fresh tears burst out. 'You c-can't be gone. How can he be gone? I don't understand. You can't be gone. You're not gone. You can't be.'

I repeat the words over and over, as the girls repair their things and their room. I repeat them well into the night, when everyone else is asleep. I haven't moved from my spot on the floor. I'm still repeating them when dawn breaks.

'James… James… James…'


End file.
